


Last Sensitivity

by Ared



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1347787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ared/pseuds/Ared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Derek"</p><p>He looked down confused, trying to make sense of the familiar sound. Glazed brown eyes met his gaze.</p><p>"Are you with me?"</p><p>A brief tightening of his grip appeared to be answer enough.</p><p>"I thought I had lost you there for a while." The voice was shaky, raspy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Sensitivity

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I have written in my life. Please don't be too harsh.
> 
> This is also (surprise) the first thing I am posting. In was not entirely sure what to tag and what not. I am having trouble judging if what is in there is really "graphic depiction of violence". In my head the story is somewhat dark, but I have no way of knowing if that comes across, so I tagged angst. And the panic attack is not really explicit either (I think).
> 
> I don't really have any experience with triggers (apart from my own), and I guess they are somewhat personal, so please, if there is anything you think should be included, tell me, help me learn. :)  
> (Actually, tell me anything you think.)
> 
> The title is a reference to a German poem called "Letzte Sensibilität" by Xymon. (Edit: I translated it wrong the first time. Sensibel translates to sensitive, not sensible. I know it doesn't make sense.)
> 
> Well, here it goes then..

He clung to what was his with all he had, restraining just enough to not break it.

Something advanced on them briefly, bringing him to lash out with force. The threat seemed to be enough to keep the intruder at bay.

There was a lot of noise. Most of it seemed to be words. But that was not important right now. The only facts of reality that made it into his mind were the ones that gave him an idea of the threat level. He needed to get them as far away from here as possible, to keep what was his safe. So that nothing could touch it ever again. He took in everything around them, not really consciously but purposeful.

He used the opening in the living barricade before him as soon as he registered it, and made for it. He knew where to turn to, drawing all of his remaining energy together to get as far away from the mayhem as possible, fast enough so that their pursuers would not be able to catch them.

 

He could not remember the flight itself, but there were impressions of blood, then concrete, then woods. Then concrete again.

Some rational thought returned to him informing him that they would not remain undiscovered here, but the post was defensible. It was the last thought before barricading the bunker.

He paused. The other heartbeat was far from being steady, but it was strong. It was enough to focus on to regain some control. A small noise escaped the smaller body when he loosened his grip, causing a shudder to wash over him. Not relief as such, but enough to slow his own frantic heartbeat.

Only now that it was fading did he register the true dimension of the tension he was in.

For a few more minutes the world consisted of nothing more than the two heartbeats, the cold concrete walls comforting where he had settled them down in a corner.

More minutes passed.

The explosion of the heartbeat between him was sudden, violently tearing him back into something like the present. He tried to apply more pressure again, soothing this time rather than desperate, tried to let his hand roam, careful not to hurt with his claws. The sounds he made could not possibly be words, but he hoped they carried comfort, giving a rhythm to the erratic breathing in his arms.

Minutes later, though it might have been hours, the heartbeat was steady again, the breathing somewhat shallow, but regular.

 

A familiar sound made its way into his mind. It took a moment to recognise it, pulling back the animal that had taken control of his senses for he didn't know how long.

"Derek"

He looked down confused, trying to make sense of the familiar sound. Glazed brown eyes met his gaze.

"Are you with me?"

A brief tightening of his grip appeared to be answer enough.

"I thought I had lost you there for a while." The voice was shaky, raspy.

Silence.

"You should let go of me now."

He tightened his grip again, panic welling up at the suggestion.

"Hey, shh, it's okay, I'm not going anywhere. You're good, I am here."

"I need you to come back to me now, can you do that for me? Derek, can you do that for me?"

He tried to focus. Focus on his name.

Derek looked, really looked for the first time now. He saw tear crusted brown eyes, pale skin that looked too thin and lifeless. His own claws were crusted with blood where they were wrapped around the smaller body, in turn wrapped in a blanket, while holding him firmly in his lap.

He couldn't see where the blood ended, and while the smell had been registered somewhere in the back of his mind, it forced its way to the fore at the realisation.

There was more blood, smeared on the white skin. Bruises, already black, on the side of the white face.  
“Stiles” It came out as a whisper.

“I’m here. I’m f… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Derek loosened his grip reluctantly, watching as Stiles slowly moved to crouch half next to him, half on him, never taking his eyes from his.

“You’re okay, you’re back. We’re safe.” Stiles’ hand made its way to his jaw, the touch releasing some more of the tension he had again failed to register.

“You should not be the one comforting me.” Derek’s voice rasped.

“Yes, I should.” A pained smile distorted Stiles’ face when he said that.

“Thank you.” He paused. “I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

A sudden surge of anger rose in Derek at the words. “Don’t ever say that to me, to anyone, do you hear me?”

Stiles nodded jerkily, obviously taken aback by the strong emotion he was faced with.

Carefully, Derek raised his claw to cup Stiles jaw and swallowed hard. “I am sorry. I am sorry I lost control like this. I just couldn’t…” “It’s okay.”

 

Derek moved, somewhat suddenly, getting up and looking around. “We have to secure the bunker. They will come looking for you. They will be coming for me. I am not going to let them take me out without a fight.”

“No, you can’t. We have to talk to them, they have to understand…” “Stiles, I just dismembered three human beings. They cannot ignore this anymore than I can.” “I’m begging you, let me talk to them!”

Derek’s eyes roamed about in desperation, seemingly looking at nothing, when he finally nodded. “Let me take away your pain.”

“You already took it. From the first moment you touched me. You never stopped.”

Derek nodded again, looking up when he apparently heard a noise. “They are here.”

  
Reluctantly, Derek made his way over to the door, unbarring it, before he made his way through the large room they had been in. He placed himself with the back to the wall opposite of the entrance, placing his palms spread, his still extended claws scraping the concrete.

Stiles stood up from the corner where had still been crouched down, his face distorted in horror. He drew the blanket closer around him. When he heard noises from the door he came closer placing himself in front of Derek, his hand reaching back to create some contact.

With a deep breath, Derek drew in the wolf. He looked straight ahead with an expression of grim anticipation.

 

Surprisingly, it was the Sherriff’s voice that spoke. “I am here to talk. I will come in now, very slowly.”

Hesitant steps made their way in, the Sherriff’s eyes settling on Derek, then on his son, with what looked like relief.  
“I am here to take my son to the hospital.”

“I’m not leaving him.” Stiles grip tightened where his hand lay behind his back, on Derek’s waist. “I am f… I am not injured badly. I don’t need a hospital.” With a firmer voice he repeated: “I am not leaving him alone.”

The Sherriff looked at him, calculating, with unmistakable concern, before turning to Derek, who still stood with the same stoic expression.

His voice was slightly hesitant when he spoke again.

“What happened in there… Nobody would even consider that a human could have left that kind of damage. The front door is clear ripped off. You don’t have to fear anything from me at the moment.”

Derek’s eyes widened in surprise before his features hardened again. He nodded his head once in confirmation, but stayed in place.

“I convinced Chris Argent to hold off for the moment. I don’t know for how long it will be, but he understands that there are… extraordinary circumstances.” His eyes had landed on Stiles, looking at him with an expression of concern, and an edge of desperation. He seemed to make a motion to advance on them, but seemed to think better of it.

“I’ll have to take you to the hospital.” This time he took his step forward.

Slowly, Stiles nodded. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Derek said, quietly: “I am not leaving him.”  
It was the Sherriff’s turn to nod, reluctantly.  
 

 

* * *

 

  
_There was a short moment of resistance when he severed limbs, but the flesh itself held none when he ripped through throats, dug into chests. The smell of blood and panic filled his lungs, mixed with other, just as unpleasant things. It was not the smell of panic from his victims that made him stop, but the panic that was mixed with a much more familiar scent._   
_He could focus on it, now that his enemies were eviscerated._

 

 


End file.
